Underneath the Rubble
by Babybloos
Summary: Juliette Hayes is a woman out of time, in more ways than one. She struggles to adapt to life in the Commonwealth, making strange friends and even stranger enemies. With sarcasm, a German Shepard and a tiny mercenary man as the main weapons in her arsenal, she sets out to do the impossible: reclaim her son from a harsh land that has no intentions of yielding.
1. Chapter 1

Goodneighbor. What a shithole.

Surveying the town, if it could even be called such, Juliette tried to keep her expression blank. The trader (had her name really been Trashcan Carla?) had described it as a community of free spirits, free of the prejudices of Diamond City. It seemed obvious she'd gotten her hopes up a little too high, but the prospect of a community of living people had provoked a certain enthusiasm. She'd desperately needed to see this democratic remnant of civilization.

The reality didn't live up to her seemingly lofty expectations.

The security gate opened onto a small courtyard which housed a few shops, all in a state of considerable disrepair. Few had intact windows. Hell, few had intact roofs. Dilapidated benches lined a brick wall. Broken bottles, needles and other trash skittered across the uneven brick walkway, collecting in cracks and gutters. A few thugs, possibly part of a town guard, carried tommy guns and looked at her menacingly. It all reeked of piss and cheap liquor.

Fear started to gnaw at her. If this was the trader's idea of community, what would Diamond City look like? Nothing more than a group of ramshackle huts and oversized turrets? Was Shaun living in a place like this? Was nothing else left?

Her dissatisfied examination, masked though it was, caught the attention of a local. Easily six feet tall and thickly muscled, he waltzed over, clucking his tongue. Aware of his own size, he puffed his chest, leather jacket pulled tight across his biceps. A pistol hung out of the waistband of his jeans. His skin, blotchy and pock-marked, coupled with his dull eyes, marked him as a junkie.

"First time in Goodneighbor?" he asked, blocking her path. A cigarette hung from his lips. He took a drag and grinned.

"Maybe. Not my first time around the block though," she said, willing herself to sound bored. She'd seen grifters like this prewar. Always looking for an easy score.

"That so?" He chuckled, one hand straying to finger the handle of his pistol.

Her own fingers itched for the knife tucked in her pocket. She could see a couple of guards eyeing the scene with interest, but none made a move to intervene.

"A little bird like you's bound to get eaten up here. You can't just go walking around without insurance in these parts. Pay up and ol' Finn'll watch your back."

Ya, right. More like he'd watch her ass as she walked away and then come to hunt her down later for a piece. She knew how men like him worked. "How about this, Finn? Back off. I can handle myself. This your idea of hospitality in Goodneighbor?"

"What was that?" he asked, expression darkening. "I don't think you get it. Empty them pockets or accidents might start happenin'. Bloody accidents," he added, mouth twisting.

She watched his pistol carefully. It was tempting to just gut the bastard. Strung out as he was, there was no way he could untangle the gun and aim quick enough to defend himself. Wise asses like him always thought a gun made them invincible. He was wrong. But, she wasn't sure how his buddies in the guard would feel about it, and though her odds against him were quite favorable, it seemed unlikely she could best four men with automatic guns armed with only a knife and prayer. She began to question her decision to stash her other destructive goodies outside town.

Her lack of compliance was upsetting Finn, but any thoughts of violence were interrupted by a newcomer.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Time out. I'm disappointed, Finn. You know the rules. Someone steps through those gates the first time, they're a guest. That extortion crap isn't gonna fly." The voice was male, an odd mixture of rough and melodic. Dignified.

Finn stared her down for another moment, before giving his attention to the new guy. As he moved aside Juliette finally caught a glimpse. Her eyes widened, though she contained her surprise otherwise. This must have been one of the ghouls Preston had mentioned back in Sanctuary. The sane ones. His skin was rough and sunken, almost like a burn victim's. There wasn't any nose to speak of and his eyes were completely black. The muscles of his face stood out sharply. She wondered what his hands looked like. Did he have finger nails? But the rest was hidden underneath an elaborate outfit. He was dressed in replica clothing from the Revolutionary War, replete with a tri-corner hat, a ruffled shirt and a patriotic sash. Despite his appearance, or maybe because of it, he wore an easy smile. He seemed to be an ally, which was good enough for her. She would take what she could get now and worry about the details later.

"Why d'you care, Hancock? Not like she's one of us." His hand still hovered ominously on the butt of his pistol.

"Come on, Finn. No love for your mayor?" The ghoul grinned again, wider this time. "I said, let her go."

His smile enraged Finn, whose face reddened. Juliette slowly reached into her pocket, the cool handle of the knife a comfort.

"She ain't one of us! Fuck off!" He seethed, eyes narrowing. "You used to be real respectable, Hancock, but you're goin' soft. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, there's gonna be trouble. Maybe soon there'll be a new mayor."

The ghoul, Hancock, kept smiling. "Finn, you wound me. This is me we're talking about." He placed a friendly hand on the man's shoulder. " I want to tell you something." Hancock's hand tightened and the color drained from the large man's face, the seriousness of his transgression finally dawning on him.

In a flash of light on steel, the ghoul produced a knife and sunk it into Finn's chest. Three quick motions with the knife, precise and efficient. The smile never left his lips. Juliette began to reconsider the term "ally". It looked like such arrangements might be temporary and hazardous where Hancock was concerned. He wiped the blade on Finn's jacket, and slid it back into his coat. He turned to her, opening his arms wide, as though nothing strange had happened.

"You looked like you had things under control, my friend, but a mayor's gotta make a point sometimes, ya dig? You all right?"

She eyed the dead man. A pool of his blood was spreading slowly across the bricks. A couple of the guards sniggered. Prudently, she determined it was best to make a good impression.

"I am, actually. I appreciate the help though," she said, offering a tight smile. It was the best she could muster.

"Glad to hear it, sister. Welcome to Goodneighbor. It's a town of the people, for the people. Everyone's welcome."

"That's… comforting to hear actually. I could use a friendly welcome. Hospitality seems to be in short supply in the Commonwealth."

Hancock chuckled. "And don't we know it. All the misfits and drifters that make up our little community came together for just that reason." He turned and gestured grandly to the buildings around them. "Nobody fucks with Goodneighbor. We stick together here."

He surveyed his kingdom, and Juliette tried to see it through his eyes. What did Goodneighbor look like to him? Did he really see a friendly neighborhood? If so, her idea of friendly must have grown outdated over the years. It clashed mightily with the blood pooling at her feet. "You'll be making friends in no time," he said with a cheeky wink. "So long as you remember who's in charge…"

With one last look, he set off down a nearby alley, speaking over his shoulder. "Once you've done your trading, stop by the State House. I'd like to hear just what it is that brought a lady like you to my fair town."

Juliette watched him saunter off, feeling equal parts relief and anxiety. It didn't seem like an invitation that could be ignored.


	2. Chapter 2

After only a few hours in residence, Juliette came to the conclusion that Goodneighbor was a curious mixture of pleasantly surprising and utterly trashy. What had at first seemed like a motley group of gangsters and addicts had turned out to be a thriving community. Juliette roughly estimated that the town supported a few hundred people, including many families. It was well defended from outside threats. It was moderately stocked with food and weaponry. The housing was in poor shape, but that seemed par for the course in Boston.

Of all the things in town, strangely it was the Memory Palace that had changed her view the most. She'd examined the pods, under the watchful eye of Irma, of course. The fact that science had made such an endeavor possible so long after the bombs had fallen awoke something akin to hope in her. Progress had not halted entirely. The sheer possibilities that such technology made accessible stunned her.

However, in typical Goodneighbor fashion, the technology seemed to be utilized almost entirely by the aforementioned gangsters and addicts to relive a particularly juicy tryst or to recapture the feeling of a great high or a bloody fight. There was no push to find prewar ghouls and scour their minds for relevant data on medicine, science, construction or anything else. The doctor in charge of the program seemed content to perfect her invention in isolation, without pursuing any purpose that was particularly enriching or far-reaching.

Similarly, the grand, old Hotel Rexford was supported almost exclusively through drug production and trafficking. Whatever history or glamor had once been contained within was now long gone, decaying in a cloud of chemical smoke and gunfire. It could easily have acted as a stable form of housing for the residents living in the slummier parts of town.

In both cases, it seemed like so much potential was wasted. But, then again, most of the residents were caught up in drug use, drug sales or bad behavior of some kind, and they seemed to have none of her compunctions with the current state of affairs. It was rather smarmy of her to waltz into town looking for help, all the while judging them for their poor management of resources. In the end, she determined it to be a thriving community, and a fairly friendly one at that. But, she still kept her knife close and her eyes open. Her initial opinion of the town might have been overly harsh, but it wasn't exactly wrong. Goodneighbor was kind of a shithole, but the residents knew it was a shithole and loved it anyway, which somehow made it less shitty.

From her perch in the town's proverbial square, she turned her attention to the State House, which stood in the center of town, dilapidated, though still dignified. It presided over the surrounding tenements and warehouses, one of the few buildings with intact windows and doors. Red, white and blue bunting still hung from the balcony, though with frayed edges and moth-eaten holes. It had certainly seen better days. Better decades even. The State House seemed like the backbone of the town, and she decided that it was the perfect place for Hancock, elegantly decaying in the midst of so much debauchery.

Her earlier anxieties had largely dissipated. Everyone in town had good things to say about him. Even Daisy, who Juliette had taken a liking to immediately, claimed that he was the best thing that had ever happened to Goodneighbor. That he'd turned it into a respectable community. It seemed his casual relationship with murder was a brand of justice the town endorsed. Who was she to criticize when all of the residents seemed to approve? Well, everyone other than Finn at least.

As her trepidation eased, she began to make plans. If Hancock truly believed in a land for the people, by the people, and if he truly was as humane as his constituents claimed, perhaps there was a chance that he'd be willing to help her. If she was going to find Shaun, it would take a lot more than directions to Diamond City. She needed something concrete, and to get it, she needed Hancock.

Steeling herself, she entered, the rough wooden door groaning under her palm.

The inside was unsurprising. What had once been a memorial to American independence now appeared to be Hancock's personal pleasure palace. Classically styled tables and displays held historical artifacts side by side with every drug and weapon imaginable. It did not escape her notice that the historical artifacts, particularly the costumes, were well cared for. It seemed that Hancock's tastes were more eclectic than she had assumed. She couldn't wait to hear the story behind his chosen name and style of dress, which seemed less and less likely to be a joke.

Guards, many of them ghouls, stood watch within and watched her closely, though they made no move to interact. Automatic rifles and long, curved knives sat within easy reach, and many had a lit cigarette in hand. The weight of so many dark eyes made her skin prickle, especially knowing that Hancock's invitation was probably the only thing keeping them friendly. She hesitated near the entrance, unsure of where to go. A curling staircase in front of her lead to an upper and lower level, while spacious rooms opened to the right and left. The air was hazy with smoke, dust and whispered conversations. It wasn't the sort of place where you wanted to appear lost.

After a moment, Hancock's languid voice floated down from one of the rooms upstairs. She couldn't quite make out the words, but it was enough to indicate her destination. She took to the stair case, hesitating as the first step creaked under her weight. Much like the door, it looked and sounded like it could use some attention after so long in service. It held firmly though, and she made her way up, ignoring the groans under her feet.

Her hand slid smoothly across the banister, reminding her of the richly appointed courtrooms of her past. Without thought or effort she ascended with the slow and steady glide she'd used to stalk those halls, lips curled in the barest hint of a smile. She had once been a viscous combatant in the realm of law, and that part of herself bubbled to the surface, hungry and powerful. There was information to be found here, and she wouldn't leave empty handed.

The stairwell opened into a space that seemed to constitute Hancock's personal quarters. To the left was a large open room, filled with dainty wooden tables and plush couches. A small radio in the corner filled the room with music. Hancock himself was sprawled out on one of the couches, arms draped across the back, long legs crossed at the ankles. Glancing to the right, Juliette found a smaller, more private room. Through the open door she could just see the edge of a bed and a desk. It was neater and classier than she would have given him credit for, though piles of Jet and Med-X still littered most available surfaces.

"Well, if it isn't Goodneighbor's most recent addition. How's my town treatin' you, sister?" he said, grinning the same toothy smile from before.

A tall red-headed woman stood from a chair nearby and positioned herself by a door on the far side. She held a gun naked in her hands, and surveyed the situation with nothing more than cold calculation. Unlike the other guards, her eyes were sharp, no trace of alcohol or drugs present in her demeanor. It struck Juliette that she was the most dangerous one here. It was obvious she had no remorse or moral misgivings about her job. She was the one who got things done around town.

Ignoring the bodyguard, she gave Hancock an easy grin.

"Between you, Daisy and K-LEO, what more could a girl want?"

Hancock chuckled. "True enough. A good gun, some Sugar Bombs and a mess a chems'll get you through just about anything." He paused, appraising her openly. The grin faded into something more pensive. "How'd you end up here? You don't exactly look like the Goodneighbor type, not like most of the people who come through here. Can't take their eyes of the merchandise," he said, gesturing to the Jet on the table.

"You expect me to give it all up without so much as a drink?" She asked, eyebrow raised archly. "How about you first."

His dark eyes widened, and a grin tugged at his lips. It seemed more natural. He relaxed back into his seat.

"You wanna know about me? My favorite subject." He chuckled, and told his own tale in the lackadaisical way that she was coming to associate with him, as though it was nothing more than a witty anecdote passed on from a friend of a friend. She was surprised to learn that he was so recently turned Ghoul. She'd thought they all dated back to the time of the war. Obviously, she still had a lot to learn. She listened readily, hungry for anything useful.

"I delivered. So, what about you?" He asked, serious once more.

"I suppose you've earned it after that. My story is… difficult. I don't exactly go around telling everyone, but seeing as you're mayor and all…" He waggled his eyebrows dramatically, and she found herself smiling, genuinely this time. Even if he was a murderer, he was a good-natured one. And to be fair, who in the Commonwealth wasn't a murderer?

"Most recently, I'm from Vault 111. But I didn't spend long there. Less than 24 conscious hours, in fact. It wasn't one of the normal ones, if any of them were ever normal. Originally, I'm from a small town farther up the coast. I spent most of my life there," she said, hesitating. How was it possible to explain everything else that had happened? It still didn't seem real to her. How could she make it real to him? Lying wouldn't serve any purpose though, and she suspected that Hancock was canny enough to see through it if she tried.

"The thing is, I was born in the year 2051."

He stared at her for moment, blinking as though he thought he'd misheard.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You serious? You're prewar?"

"I am. When the bombs dropped, me and my family made it to the Vault. We were lucky. It was really close to our house. We put on the jumpsuits and agreed to live out our lives underground. The rations, the dull work, the Overseer. All of it. Only, none of that ever happened. They froze us all once we were inside. I've spent the last 210 years or so on ice. I only woke up a couple of weeks ago. When I made it out of the pod my husband was dead and my baby was gone. So, I guess you're right. Goodneighbor's never seen anyone like me. I came here looking for Shaun."

"Damn. That's some heavy shit," he said, shaking his head.

He looked away for the first time, leaning on his knees and staring at an indistinct point in the air in front of him. She watched as he processed it. He would have to be her gauge for whether or not people would buy it.

Long moments passed until finally he looked up. His expression was guarded.

"Any ideas who took him?"

"Not really. I have a couple foggy memories, but nothing solid to go on. He was only a couple months old. I have no idea who would have even known we were in there, much less why they would have taken him. Everyone who ever knew me is dead."

"Hmmm." He steepled his fingers in front of his face and exhaled. "I don't know where he is, but I can tell you he's not in Goodneighbor."

Juliette held his gaze. That couldn't be all he had to say. It couldn't. There had to be something, anything for her to go on.

The silence stretched on. He exhaled deeply, air rasping through his ruined throat, and then he nodded, more to himself than to her.

"I can't help you directly, but I think I can put you on the right track. I hate to hear stories like this. They tear at my heart, ya know?" And just like that, he was back to himself. He grinned lazily, placing a hand on his chest over his heart, as though he were swearing allegiance.

She exhaled in a rush, surprised to find that she'd been holding her breath. "Anything that can help, Hancock, it would mean the world to me."

He smiled, a small private one this time. "First, I know a detective in Diamond City. Most of the assholes there aren't worth a shit, but Valentine, he's good as gold. If anyone can find the little guy, it's him. Second, you're gonna need some chems. Take what you need from my stash. Third, you need more firepower. There's this guy down in the Third Rail, real good with a rifle. Goes by Maccready. He can be a little rough around the edges, but once you pay up, he's your guy. Plus, I hear he has a soft spot when it comes to kids."

Grinning from ear to ear, she thanked him, accepting his gifts and his goodwill with warmth. But she did not miss the cold, watchful stare of his bodyguard, whose pale eyes clearly told her that Hancock's kindness was not without a price. As she descended the staircase, time seemed to slow, her mind spinning busily, ideas and information twisting and curling like flame. This was the first step. There were plans to be made.


	3. Chapter 3

Juliette left the State House feeling more buoyant than she had since she'd stepped out of the Vault. Gratitude to Hancock hummed through her. Daisy had been right. There was more to him than chems and a stolen name. Just the knowledge that there were functioning detectives left in the ruins of Boston was a huge comfort. There was someone out there who could help her find Shaun! And Hancock, who'd shown himself willing to lend a hand. It changed her outlook on the Commonwealth. Hope that she had resisted before, now began to grow. And now that she had a plan, the dull, scratching panic that had been building in her chest began to recede. It felt like she could breath again.

However, all of Handcock's goodwill and advice would come to naught without careful thought. As soon as she stepped back out onto the uneven brick street, she set to work. There was much to be done.

She'd gratefully accepted the chems Hancock had offered her, despite the fact that didn't really intend to use them. It hadn't seemed wise to turn them down, and she was glad she hadn't. She kept some of the Med-X, which might be useful if a fight ever went bad, but she took the Jet and Buffout down to the Hotel Rexford where she traded them for a room and a good amount of caps. All together, that brought her stash up to nearly 400. She was hoping that would be enough to hire this Maccready character. Of all Hancock's advice, the mercenary seemed like the most questionable. But she had little in the way of options, and if he knew his way around a gun and around the Commonwealth, he could be an invaluable help. He had expertise she needed. She'd just have to take a chance on him.

She didn't leave her room right away. She wanted to collect herself. If she'd been back in 2077 she would have showered and changed into something eye-catching. As it was, with no running water and faded, dirty mirror, she did the best she could. She shed her armor and clothes, cleaning off with a wet towel. She used her fingers to brush the tangles from her hair, and pulled it neatly back. She tried to beat the dust from her flannel shirt and jeans.

All in all, she looked a little worn, but still like herself. She had a winning smile, a nice figure, a confident swagger. And a sharp knife. She opted to leave her ragtag pieces of leather armor behind, locked in a trunk. It was just a bar after all, even if it was a bar in Goodneigbor.

Just before leaving she emptied her stash of caps onto the bed. Carrying them all in a bag had been convenient up to this point, but it made it difficult to count them out in a hurry. She'd noticed the residents of Goodneighbor kept them on strings and ropes, counted out in increments of 5, 25 and 50. She didn't want to embarrass herself counting them out individually to the mercenary, like an elderly woman paying in pennies. Doing the best she could to mimic the local style, she made six cords of 50, and 4 of 25. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Night had just fallen as she stepped out of the hotel. The air was liquid and warm. Streetlights offered light only in hazy patches, and she walked with care, alert for any sort of movement in the shadows. The feel of it brought back an old memory from her college days. A friend had wanted to meet at a bar downtown. She'd sat there waiting for a couple hours, ignoring the stares of the other patrons and the drunken pick-up lines, only to finally get a call that the friend had gotten sick and forgotten. She'd chosen to walk home rather than take a cab, taking a strange pleasure in the possibility of danger that lurked down every alley. The "risk" had suited her mood. How foolish she'd been then. How foolish they'd all been. Worrying about deadlines, and vacations, and looking fashionable. How pathetic, how shallow it all seemed as she stared down the ruins of that long-dead life. Where she'd once chosen to walk in the darkness to enjoy the thrill, she now walked it by necessity, scorning the wanton recklessness of her former self. All she wanted now was her son. But she shrugged the memory off, and her foul mood with it. Much like everything else these days, bitterness wasn't a luxury she could afford.

The walk was not a long one, and she found her way into the Third Rail with surprising ease. The bouncer ushered her in with a nod and a sharp jab of his thumb toward an inoperable escalator. (Would they just be called stairs?) She took them slowly, enjoying the echo of song that drifted up to meet her. Live music. That was a treat she hadn't been expecting. The closer she got, the clearer it became. Jazz music filtered through a sound system, and a sultry voice sang vocals on top. It was a delicious warmth in her ears, a feeling she'd forgotten. Indulging herself for the first time since she'd woken up, she took a seat at the bar, ordered a drink and decided to listen.

I see you lookin' round the corner

Come on inside and pull up a chair

No need to feel like a stranger

Cause we're all a little strange in here

Have you got a history that needs erasin'?

Did you come in just for the beer and cigarettes

Or a broken down dream you're tired of chasin'

I'm just the girl to make you forget

So I'm glad you dropped by

Come in, loosen up your tie

Have a drink

Or maybe just one more

But if you're searching for something

To bring you comfort

Well, I'm the one you're looking for

The singer, beautifully reminiscent of Snow White, looked like she'd stepped right out of the old era. Her skin was smooth perfection, her smile dazzlingly white, and her dress… it shimmered and danced like flame on her slender body. Watching her in the spotlight, engulfed in warm song, was a kind of magic. It was almost enough to make her forget where she was.

But the spell didn't last long.

"She said Maccready's in the back. Quit gawking!" A male voice hissed behind her.

Juliette kept very still, but turned her focus to the men shuffling past a few tables behind her. They were both tall and imposing, carrying large guns openly on their hips.

"Fuck off, Barnes. Ain't like he's goin' anywhere."

"We got a job to do. Get it over with so we can get out of this zombie shit-heap."

"Fine. Just lay off."

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched them walk towards a back room. A piece of plywood hung over the doorway, roughly marked with the letters VIP. From what she could tell, the taller, dark skinned one was Barnes. He seemed to be marginally in charge. The other was pale, with a pronounced underbite and a bad haircut.

She had a decision to make. Maccready obviously had company that was less than friendly. In other words, baggage. She had enough of that to spare. It seemed unwise to get involved, especially when the problem included two thugs like that. But… Hancock had said he was a good guy. Hancock's recommendation was the only thing she had to go on right now. She needed the help. Maybe he needed the help too? Maybe they could come to some sort of equitable arrangement. Maybe.

She watched as they disappeared behind a corner farther into the room. She had to choose.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. If he really was a good guy, she couldn't sit her while he got bum-rushed by two assholes like that. She slid out of her chair and made for the back. She kept her free hand curled around the handle of the knife in her pocket. This could go one of two ways, and she needed to be prepared for them both.

She got there in time to catch the tail end of the point they were making.

"-just here to deliver a message."

Yeah right. And she was here for the stimulating conversation. She rolled her eyes, moving as quietly as she could, standing just around the corner, beyond their sight. Two thugs like that, just to deliver a message? Bull shit.

"In case you forgot, I left the Gunners for good." She could hear the shifting of fabric as Maccready stood from his chair.

"I heard. But I also heard you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That arrangement isn't going to work for us." Still Barnes.

"I don't take orders from you… not anymore. Why don't you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can."

She admired his spirit, but it wasn't helping to diffuse the situation. Bad Haircut growled under his breath. He was obviously getting pissed, but she couldn't see what was going on. She needed eyes on the situation. There was nothing for it but to make herself seen.

Trying to appear unconcerned, she sauntered around the corner, acting entirely oblivious to their conversation, examining a painting on the wall. She could feel eyes on her back, but ignored them, sipping from her glass. Finally, she turned, leaning on the wall and pulling her knife out, using it to clean under her nails. Barnes and Bad Haircut had returned their attention to Maccready.

"Barnes, we don't got to listen to this shit!" Bad Haircut flexed and unflexed his hands, dying for a chance to let loose.

"Listen up, Maccready. The only reason we haven't filled you full of bullets is that we don't want a war with Goodneighbor. We respect other people's boundaries. We know how to play the game. Something you never learned."

Maccready smirked. "Glad to disappoint you."

Barnes chuckled, but it was hollow and fell flat. Maccready was getting under his skin. "You can play tough guy all you want, but if we hear your still operating in Gunner territory, all bet's are off. You got that?"

"You finished?" Maccready asked, still smirking.

"Ya, we're finished. Let's go, Winlocke." Barnes turned, but Bad Haircut lingered for a few moments, seething. She thought he might punch Maccready, but the moment passed and with a growl he turned and followed. They passed Juliette, offering nothing other than a dark look.

Maccready watched them go, only turning to her when the sound of their footsteps had faded completely. His smirk was gone and he just looked tired. "Look lady, whatever your sellin', I'm not buyin'."

She took a moment to size him up. He wasn't a big guy, not much taller than her, but he carried himself with a confidence that was impressive. He obviously wasn't lacking for wit. The rifle at his side was worn, but clean and well kept. All good signs. She pushed off the wall and moved forward to face him.

"Actually, I was hoping to do the buying. Hancock sent me, said you were a good shot and you wouldn't stab me in the back while I slept."

He looked at her more seriously this time, giving careful consideration to her knife as she slid it back into the leather sheath in her pocket.

"Consider me touched that our illustrious mayor would give such a glowing recommendation. You know how to use that thing?"

"You want to find out?" she asked, bristling at the barb. She'd just stepped in here to watch his back and he was going to give her a hard time?

He chuckled.

"Easy now, don't get your feathers in a ruffle. I'm surprised you'd still hire me after that little display." He eyed her with open curiosity.

It was a good point, and one that she was all too conscious of. She didn't really know anything about him. She was here for no other reason than Hancock's good word. It's not like she relished the idea of going up against two thugs like that either. But, if she was being honest, the scene had impressed her a little. Maccready, despite being smaller and out-numbered, had clearly been ready to fight. He didn't lack for confidence. He either had the skill to match, in which case he was worth the risk, or he didn't, in which case she would know shortly and he would probably get himself killed, taking care of the problem for her. But, if he'd run in a gang with guys like that, something told her he had the skills to back up his smart mouth.

"Ya, well, I had a display of my own a couple of hours ago with some dirtbag running an extortion scheme. It happens. I came to you because I need someone who I can trust. I don't know if that's you yet, but your the closest I've come so far and I'm willing to take a chance. The Commonwealth's filled with assholes. What's two more?"

He laughed again, louder this time. "Admirable attitude. Fine. But how do I know your not going to stab me in the back while I'm sleeping?"

"You'll have my word, but you'll also have my caps. That good enough for you?"

"250. Up front."

She said a silent prayer of thanks to Codsworth for stashing caps all these long years, and pulled 5 strings of 50 from her pocket, dangling them in the air between them. He grabbed them with a smile. "You got yourself a deal, boss."


	4. Chapter 4

Maccready proved agreeable in more ways than one. Despite his occupation of the back room in the Third Rail, he wasted no time gathering his things and meeting her at the Hotel Rexford. According to him, bars were a professional hunting ground, not a personal one. Though she had doubted him at first, it was proving true enough. Behind a locked door, in the relative quiet, he seemed to let his guard down a bit and relax.

He sat in the room's only chair, a spindly, delicate thing, though you wouldn't know it from his treatment of it. Arms crossed behind his head, he leaned back against the wall, chair balanced on two legs. He'd found more ways of leaning, balancing and twisting it than she'd ever conceived of. He seemed more comfortable here, but he certainly wasn't less energetic.

From his precarious vantage point he watched Juliette pour over a worn and intricate map of Boston. She'd spent longer convincing Daisy to lend it to her than she had convincing Maccready to risk life and limb. According to the shrewd trader, accurate ones were worth more than their weight in gold, bullets, Jet or whatever else you could think to offer. It wasn't for sale. But… for 50 caps and exclusive trading rights in Goodneighbor Juliette had secured an hour with it. And she wasn't putting that time to waste. She wouldn't get another crack at it, and she suspected if anything were to happen to it she'd make more enemies than just Daisy.

"Aren't those Pip things supposed to come with maps?" Maccready asked, eyeing her with bemusement. She was scratching out notes and drawings as quickly as she was able. Lacking anything else to occupy his time, he was on standby to sharpen her pencils when she wore them down. She sighed and glanced up at him. His cap was tilted back, revealing thick, wavy brown hair. His green eyes sparkled in the flickering light.

"Yep. 'Supposed to' being the significant part of that statement. Most of them do. Mine sat on the cold, damp floor of a Vault for 200 years and got cranky. It has mapping capabilities, but all of it's location data was lost at some point. I'm having to update it manually. It's a pain in the ass."

"And you think her map'll help? You'd think it could just… scan it or something."

He'd been with her only a handful of hours and his commentary was already a distinct source of comedy, and a welcome distraction if she was being honest.

"You'd think, huh? Guess the nice 'Pip' people didn't consider the effects that nuclear devastation would have on the local topography," she replied, giving the Pip Boy a stern look and rapping it with two knuckles.

He snorted and rolled his eyes. She couldn't tell if he was amused or bored. It hardly mattered. This was a great opportunity, even if it wasn't particularly exhilarating.

"Ya, well, wake me up if it does anything interesting," he said, pulling his cap down over his eyes and tilting his head back, definitively quiting his job as head pencil sharpener.

In the absence of their voices there was only the soft hiss of wind blowing through the cracks in the old building and the scratch of her pencil. But the quiet didn't bother her. Instead, all the relevant geographical and political data floated around in her head, mixing with memories of things she'd seen on the trip here and things she'd heard while in town. It was all coming together. To the north was a Raider stronghold. Somewhat open to trade, but only for chems and weapons. Supermutants populated a building a few blocks to the east. Definitely not open to trade. Farther to the southwest was Diamond City. Eager for trade, but violent towards ghouls and synths. So many places, factions and prejudices to keep track of. For the first times since she'd stepped into this violent world, she was grateful to her training as a lawyer. Success here was all in the details, and she'd made her prewar career out of being good at keeping them straight.

A heavy pounding on the door startled her out of her thoughts, pencil falling from her hand to leave a dark mark on the paper below. Maccready's chair slammed down on all four legs and in a single, fluid motion he was standing between her and the door, gun in hand. Silence fell again. Staring at his back, she sat frozen. Who in the world?

"Boss?"

His question, sharp and urgent cut through her uncertainty. It didn't matter.

"I need a moment."

"Sure thing."

She gently rolled up the map, securing it in it's case. Another knock thudded against the door. Dust fell from the rafters. With a wide cutting motion she swept her supplies under the bed and stashed the map. She set her pack on the bed. Nothing valuable there. The map was the real treasure. Just as she was drawing her knife there was a third knock, louder than the last, accompanied by a shout.

"Open up!" It was a woman's voice, one unfamiliar to Juliette.

"I'm ready. Step back. I'll get it," she said, voice low. To his credit, he didn't question her. He moved back and to her right, where he'd have a clear shot.

She finally opened the door, stepping back and allowing it to swing slowly inward. She held the knife firmly at her side.

Waiting for them was Hancock's bodyguard, a woman she'd hoped not to cross paths with again. She wore cold, unreadable expression but did not appear openly hostile. Juliette lowered her knife, but didn't put it away entirely. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Maccready do the same. This wasn't the sort of woman who made social calls.

The red head stepped in without a word, not waiting for an invitation. She closed the door with her elbow and leaned against it, uncomfortably close and unconcerned by their weapons. She looked around the room, expression unreadable.

"Fahrenheit, was it?" Juliette asked, somewhat awkwardly. The woman interrupted her.

"I'm not here to chat. You came to Hancock for help and he delivered. In the interest of gratitude I think it's time you returned the favor," she said, voice flat and low.

Maccready snorted. "Isn't gratitude usually voluntary?"

Fahrenheit ignored him. "There's a building to the north, Pickman Gallery. Raiders took it over about a year ago. They trade with us regularly, so they've kept it peaceful so far. But now they've gone quiet. Either they're planning something, or they're dead. Either way, we need to know."

"And your coming to me? What exactly do you want me to accomplish? What if they are planning something?"

"Kill them. I don't give a fuck, just figure it out."

Juliette paused, considering. She knew the building in questions, thanks to her recent studies. It wasn't large. It supported a small group of semi-hostile Raiders, who were sometimes open to trade, particularly when drugs were involved. It was possible that she could resolve the situation quickly and peacefully. It wasn't a detour she really wanted to take, but the idea of cleaning the slate with Hancock was appealing. And it would be a good test run for her and Maccready.

"Fine, I'm in. But I won't do it for free.

"Hancock's offering 150 caps if you do the job right."

"Shoulda mentioned that up front. I'm feeling a lot more grateful now," said Maccready.

Juliette very nearly laughed, but, with some effort, she was able to keep a straight face. What an ass! He was going to get them killed!

"I'll report to Hancock when it's done."

"See that you do." Fahrenheit left without further comment, disappearing silently down the hall.

Juliette closed the door, locked it and leaned against it. She ran a hand through her hair, pinching the bridge of her nose. "That throws a wrench in things."

"At least it's a profitable wrench?"

She could see his feet as she approached, but she ignored it. She wanted to be traveling to Diamond City right now, not running this errand. But she tried to rally her spirits. She had agreed, and they would get paid. That was money that would help her later. "You're right. How bad could it be? It's only a few Raiders."

"Yeah, I guess," he said absently.

She finally lowered her hand, startled by the change of his tone, but he caught her arm right below the Pip Boy and lifted it back to his eye level.

"That looks like a…" He tapped a spot on the far side of the computer that she couldn't see. When nothing happened, he tapped again a little harder. There was a metallic click as a small compartment opened. A green light flickered forward in a thin line, dancing up and down his grinning face. "I think I found your scanner. Guess those Pip guys weren't so bad after all."

"That can't be…" She tried to get a good look at it, but the angle made it difficult. Giving up on seeing it directly for the moment, she hurriedly pulled out the map, rolling it open on the floor. Leaning down, she angled the light so that it landed near the top. After a moment of frantic flickering it seemed to settle on the paper, gradually sliding down the page. As it worked, new data populated the open grid on her screen. A prompt appeared.

Would like to amend data related to the location known as Boston?

She confirmed and an interactive map pulsed to life beneath her fingers. A blinking indicator showed that she was currently in Goodneighbor. Tapping on the town prompted a list of merchants. Juliette guessed that she could manually add other notable figures, such as Hancock, who wouldn't have been listed on Daisy's trading map.

"Well, I'll be…" Smiling, she glanced up, ready to show him how it worked, only to find him grinning smugly.

"I accept thanks in the form of caps or-"

"Shut up!"

Preparations for their unexpected detour didn't take long. Juliette secured her armor back in place and packed what few things she'd brought into her rucksack. They stopped by Daisy's to return the map and stock up on ammo. They had a quick breakfast at the Third Rail. The sky was just starting to lighten when the stepped through the front gate, the comforting sound of turret engines fading behind them.

As they walked, he was silent for several minutes, eyeing the blade in her hip. Finally, he shook his head, and spoke his mind. "No offense, boss, but you might want more than a knife."

"None taken. I wasn't planning on going in without a gun anyways."

He continued to stare at her expectantly, as though she'd produce a gun from under her shirt. She laughed. "I'm going to let you in on a secret of mine."

"Oh ho, now we're talking," he replied, chuckling.

It was impossible to see the sun, surrounded by buildings as they were, but the sky had gone from a dark, inky black to a softer grey. Using the light to their advantage, Juliette navigated deftly through alley ways, avoiding tin cans and other trash in an effort to stay silent and hidden. She'd traveled this way before and she knew that there was a sizable Supermutant population in the area. No need to attract their attention.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, she stopped and gestured to a decrepit building tucked in between various other decrepit buildings. Nothing about it was particularly eye-catching or impressive.

"Here we are!" She gestured to the building with an elaborate flourish of her hand and then climbed through a broken display window. Winding her way behind the counter, she took to the stairs. Maccready followed warily. Juliette had to turn on the light on her Pipboy to see as they moved farther inside. She pushed through the door to a restroom. At the back was what looked like a supply closet. As they approached, they could hear a strange noise coming from inside, a soft hush, hush. Almost like a broom moving across a dirty floor.

"What the fuck's that?" asked Maccready, drawing his rifle. Juliette giggled.

"Easy, tough guy. He's friendly." She kneeled down and fiddled with the lock for a second. There was an audible click and it popped open.

A dark shape leaped from the opening, pushing her to the ground. She laughed, reaching up to feel warm fur. Dogmeat licked her repeatedly on the face, barking in excitement.

"Fuck! You could have warned me! Scared the shi- scared the… Ugh! It scared me," he finished lamely.

Still giggling, she extracted herself from the dog pile and stood up, dusting off her backside. "Dogmeat, this is Maccready. Maccready, this is my friend, Dogmeat."

"Why'd you lock your dog in a closet?" he asked, still prickly.

"Actually, I locked a bunch of stuff in here. He just stayed behind to guard it all." She paused for a moment, rubbing the back of her neck. "It seems dumb now, but I guess I wanted to make a good impression. Goodneighbor was the first town I ever visited in the Commonwealth. I didn't want to waltz in packing an arsenal. I thought they might assume I was hostile."

"Are you kidding me? It's Goodneighbor."

She blushed, looking away. "Like I said, it seems dumb now. It's not a mistake I'll make again." Eager to move on, she pulled the door open, stepping inside and shining her light so that the shelves inside were illuminated.

Neatly layed out were two 10mm pistols, a hunting rifle, about 100 pieces of ammo, 5 frag grenades, 2 bottle cap mines, and her prize, a Mini-Nuke. She'd yet to find a Fat Man, but she was hedging her bets that one would turn up. There was also a first aid kit and a small pile of Rad-X and Rad-Away.

From the doorway, Maccready whistled. "Damn boss, you really were prepared. I can't believe you were hiding all this in here." He laughed. "Never doubt a woman on a mission."

Dogmeat danced around her feet excitedly, occasionally stopping to smell Maccready. When they had finished talking he sat down in front of her and whined curiously. She smiled and scratched behind one of his ears.

"Yes boy, you're invited this time." He barked excitedly and licked her hand. Finally, he trotted out into the hallway, alert for any signs of movement at their back.

"Before you ask, I didn't leave him locked in here with nothing." She pointed to the corner. Two big bowls held dog food and clean water. "Plus, the door was only locked from the outside. You can just push it open from here. I even practiced to make sure he could get out if he wanted to."

"Uh huh, lock the poor dog in here to protect your guns. Real benevolent. Dogmeat, you can tell me if she's starving you. I'll make sure you get fed." Dogmeat cocked his head and whined, looking back and forth between the two of them. Juliette smacked Maccready on the arm, stifling a laugh.

"You ass. Just help me get this packed so we can get out of here."


End file.
